The Heir of Voldemort
by Armelle-Madeline
Summary: AU - instead of taking Harry to his relatives, Riddle, Minister for Magic, adopts the boy, Voldemort taking on an heir. When Harry attends Hogwarts, the truth of his parentage comes out, both who Riddle really is and who the Potters were
1. Adopted

A/N: A plot bunny on fictionalley.org was 'what if Tom Riddle looked like everyone else? What if he adopted Harry?' Thus my story idea was born – nature versus nuture, the prophecy in all its variations, and Harry's own feelings.  
  
/  
  
A cloud drifted lazily across the moon, inky dark against the white and the stars, tiny pinpricks of light, shone with cold brilliance. It was a clear night and very late; the occupants of the houses about were fast asleep and had been for hours. The houses were scattered about the street, as if a child had picked them up and tossed them down carelessly, each house with a distinct personality, higgledy-piggledy windows and shutters, and a cheerful look to them. The street wound itself, cat-like, between the houses, curling about them, cobbled and faded. The stones were well trodden; the feet of occupants of Godric's Hollow had trampled them on the way home for hundreds of years. The only things that marked out the pretty homes as those owned by muggles of the very new 1980's were the television aerials that stuck up from the roofs.  
  
A small garden grew at the back and front of each home, roses grew over the doors and windows of some houses, michelmas daisies and pansies, and petunias in the gardens of others. Summer colours dotted each bed, bright splashes of pinks, purples, reds and yellows added to the general friendly appearance.  
  
The hollyhocks in the front garden of number ten, Godric's Hollow were always much admired. They grew proud and tall, and the neighbours, those living at number eight always complimented the nice young man and his wife who lived there on their good hand with flowers. They were nodding in the light breeze of the summer night; a distinct chill settling over the little street.  
  
But there was no house behind them. Number ten, Godric's Hollow, with the very bright red front door, lay in rubble, still warm. Half of it had gone completely, piles of bricks and stone and wood, and Lily Potter's rosewood bureau smashed on the ground. A few beams still held up the other half of the house, blackened with smoke of a fire that had never been there. An Aga, tempermental old beast that always went out whenever a wind went down the chimney, but still much loved by Lily as it was always hot when a cake needed to go in, still stood.  
  
When the neighbours woke, or the milkman came by in the dim and drowsy hours of the very early morning, they would go closer to the was-house, and peer at the bodies that you could just see, lying under the rubble. The Potters' eyes were wide and staring, the nice young man had fallen in front of his wife, protectively. A long piece of red hair caught in the moonlight from under a long wooden beam.  
  
But as yet, no one had woken, and the muggles, fast asleep, did not see the fading Dark Mark hanging in the air above the Potters' house, nor did they see the three people appear as if from nowhere, who clustered at the corner of the street, one crying openly. She covered her face with her hands, knocking her spectacles sideways, and sobbed brokenly, burying her face in the shoulder of the wizard, unashamed of her emotion as she would be on another day.  
  
"I can't believe it, Albus," she said tearfully, half looking back at the remains of number ten, and then hiding her eyes once more, fearful. "How did he find them? How did he kill them?"  
  
The old wizard patted her back gently, and proffered a handkerchief kindly. Professor McGonagall took it, and after dabbing at her eyes, gave it a hearty blow. Although his blue eyes were usually friendly, with a twinkle that those who knew him often recognised, they were steely, and a grim look had entered them.  
  
"I'm afraid I do not know, Minerva," he said quietly. He looked at the third wizard. A younger man, he appeared to be in his late thirties. His dark hair, normally sleek and tidy, was mussed and hung about his face. He had an intense look in his grey eyes, watching Dumbledore and McGonagall from a hooded, speculative face. He blinked suddenly, and a gentler, more tender expression slid over his face as he looked down on the white bundle of blankets in his arms. The year-old Harry Potter slept on unconcerned, safe in the Minister for Magic's grasp.  
  
"It's a bad business, a very bad business," Dumbledore continued, watching the third wizard. "He seems to be quite peaceful there with you, Tom." The Minister for Magic looked up, with a smile that appeared and went like quicksilver.  
  
"Yes," he said apologetically. "There were a lot of children about when I was small. I'm used to them." His expression grew dark, and he glared at the Potters' house as if it personally offended him.  
  
"What I can't understand is how he knew," he stated determinedly, raising his chin to look at the house again, in consternation. "I mean, I know you have your ways, Dumbledore-"  
  
The older wizard nodded to acknowledge the observation, and waited quietly.  
  
"How did he find them? How did he break through them? What was it you used to protect them?" he asked, finally, sounding as if curiosity getting the better of him. Dumbledore stroked his beard a moment before answering.  
  
"I used old magic," he said shortly, looking at McGonagall. "One that could not be broken unless someone betrayed them."  
  
The expression on the other wizard's face was pure fury. "And who dared that?" he demanded. "Who dared to betray them? James and Lily were the best young people to come out of Hogwarts in a long time, Dumbledore. They hadn't even been out of school longer than two years." He cast a glance back down at Harry in his arms, and tenderly tucked a corner of blanket about the baby's face.  
  
"I know, Tom," Dumbledore said tiredly, as though he was nearing exhaustion. "I know. The traitor will be dealt with, I promise you. We can do nothing to help them, however. They are dead, and that's the last of it. I have arranged for Hagrid to take Harry here to his aunt and uncle's tomorrow." He looked at the baby, a bitter smile hovering on his lips.  
  
"He shall, at least, have no memory of what occurred tonight."  
  
"Just another orphan because of Voldemort," McGonagall said suddenly, scathing. Tom shook his head suddenly, passion rising in his voice as he spoke.  
  
"Let me take him." Dumebledore regarded him with surprise, blue eyes questioning the younger man. The other wizard shook his head impatiently.  
  
"I know that you'll have spells and enchantments set up, but none of that means anything. I can take Harry," he said persuasively. "I can look after him. My home is well protected, because of my position I am always guarded. With me, he will be in the public's eye and looked after. Oh, you can lay down your spells and protection on him as well, but I can take care of him. He'll be well looked after, and he won't forget who he is, or who his parents were." He held the baby closer, cuddling him. "Please?"  
  
"All right," Dumbledore answered after a few moments of careful consideration. "I shall keep a watch on him. Voldemort shall be watching him and in these dark times, anything could happen. Both of you go on, I'll deal with the muggles, and this."  
  
Still sniffing, and wiping her eyes with Dumbledore's handkerchief, Professor McGonagall apparated, disappearing into thin air. Dumbledore stalked back to where number ten had been, determination in his stride. Tom Riddle, Minister for Magic, lifted back the blanket to see Harry Potter's face. The baby slumbered peacefully, his pale skin unmarked, his head already covered with thick black hair, much like James'.  
  
"Hello, Harry," Voldemort whispered to his adopted son.  
  
/  
  
A/N: And so it begins. Next chapter, Harry at Hogwarts. 


	2. Of Spells and Strangers

A/N: Wow, first chapter is fairly popular! grin Well, it might be original, but its a bunny from Fictionalley, so if you want original bunnies, go there. Also, the house-elf name in this chapter came from Miss Kat, of OFU of Troy, so Moppy is hers. All those of you wondering how all this came about  keep reading!  
  
/  
  
"I shall return and collect you from the book shop." Harry's father gestured to Flourish and Blotts, a smallish shop cramped by two larger shops either side. It had a squashed look, as if the books inside were spilling out as the other two shops jostled for position. He patted Harry's shoulder awkwardly, a tight smile catching at his lips slightly. People were starting to gather around them interestedly; after all, it was the first time the Minister for Magic's adopted son had started buying supplies for Hogwarts. A muscle leapt in his father's jaw, and his shoulders tensed beneath his robes. The hand on Harry's shoulder was hastily withdrawn.  
  
"I shall be in Knockturn Alley," he said shortly, and snapped his fingers at the house-elf standing a few paces behind. "You. Moppy. Accompany Master Riddle and make sure that he is not harmed." Tom Riddle had a strained, tired look about his greying temples, but his grey eyes were as steely as ever. He turned, and left, leaving Harry in the middle of the sunny street, with a pocket full of golden Galleons.  
  
Harry James Potter Riddle was one of the most observed boys in the wizarding world. In the readers of the Daily Prophet's eyes, he stood for all the orphans and lost ones of the War, and was treated as such. He was also possibly one of the most spoilt boys of the wizarding world.  
  
For a moment he stood, looking about him. Any observer would not have noted him unnecessarily; it was only as the recognised son and heir of Tom Riddle that he was noteworthy. He had a lot of scruffy black hair, that refused to be tamed, bright green eyes behind round spectacles, and was on the thin side, regardless of the amount that he ate. It was late June, so early for a boy expected at Hogwarts that autumn to be shopping for school things, but in Riddle's campaign that August and September, there was really little time for such mediocrities. Such tasks could, of course, be carried out by the house-elf, but in a rare moment of openness, his father had decreed that no first year could miss the excitement of shopping for his first year of wizard schooling.  
  
Gathering his robes about him, purposefully the ten-year-old set off for the robes shop, just to the left of the book shop.  
  
A small bell tinkled in the almost empty shop. Bright sunlight streamed through the windows, catching at the dust motes spiralling in the beams. Harry looked around for anyone. Madam Malkin, the proprietor, was nowhere to be seen. Another boy, however, at the other end of the shop, stood on a small stool, his arms outstretched in robes that were slightly too big for him. He had a pointed, almost pinched face, and sleek blond hair, and was watching Harry interestedly with cool blue eyes.  
  
"Hello," he said, his voice almost drawling.  
  
"Hello," Harry answered, walking towards him. "I'm Harry. Are you going to Hogwarts?"  
  
The boy smiled lazily, and pointed to the crest. "I'm Draco Malfoy. You're Riddle's son, aren't you?" He peered at Harry from above, bending over. Harry nodded.  
  
"Yes." He wandered around the shop, and poked a roll of shimmering blue velvet experimentally. It was almost the colour of his father's favourite dress robes. Draco Malfoy cleared his throat.  
  
"Going to Hogwarts?" he asked, stepping down off the stool. Harry turned back, and outstretched a hand. Draco took it, and shook, a small smile curling on his mouth.  
  
"Yes. At least, when I receive the letter. It should be any day now. My birthday is coming soon."  
  
'July thirty first," Draco said idly, inspecting his fingernails. At Harry's surprised look, he smiled coolly. "Surely you're used to being a celebrity, Riddle?"  
  
"Yes," Harry answered equally coolly, "Just didn't think someone like you'd be part of my fan club."  
  
There was a moment where the blond boy seemed to be making up his mind whether to sneer, or be taken aback. Finally, he smiled, and a look of respect glinted in the blue eyes.  
  
"Play Quidditch at all, Riddle?" he inquired, but at that moment a short, plump witch, wrapped in fussy layers of robes hurried back into the shop.  
  
"You'll have to wait a moment, dear," she informed Harry, "I'm almost finished with this one." She slid a pair of spectacles from her head down to her nose, and squinted at Harry. "You're Riddle's boy, aren't you?" she sounded faintly surprised, and a little breathless. Harry nodded.  
  
"Well, I'll be with you in one second, Mr Riddle, one second," she promised fervently, scuttling to Malfoy's side, and began pinning the sleeves back, snatching a look at Harry every now and then until her eyes darted away and back to her work.  
  
"Not really," Harry said, after a moment's pause. Draco nodded knowledgably. "First years aren't allowed brooms," he said, as if considering it, "But I'll just bully Father into buying one for me."  
  
"The Nimbus 2000 is out soon," Harry commented, propping his elbows on a pile of rolls of material, and sitting himself on a high chair. "Supposed to be a good broom. What position do you play?"  
  
"I don't know," Draco drawled, sounding disinterested. "It's a way of passing the time."  
  
"Father won't let me," Harry said, rather sheepishly. "I expect he thinks I'd get hurt, and the publicity would be terrible. Far safer to learn at Hogwarts."  
  
"I suppose," Draco shrugged, as Madam Malkin fixed the last stitch in place, and tapped him on the shoulder.  
  
"I'll send the robes with Dobby, Mr Malfoy," she said briskly, whipping them over his head, and folding them quickly. "He'll be collecting on Thursday, is it?"  
  
"Yes," Draco replied. He looked at Harry. "I'd better go. See you at Hogwarts, Riddle." He pushed open the door, and left, the little bell jangling violently as the door slammed shut.  
  
"Right, dear, hop up," Madam Malkin instructed him kindly.  
  
"The Malfoys are a good family," his father told him, his voice tinged with pleasure. "Draco is a well placed friend to make." He led the way through the cramped book shop, drawing his robes about him as he passed other shoppers, his upper lip wrinkling in distaste. Harry hardly noticed; he was familiar with his father's displeasure for being physically close to strangers.  
  
"Magic is going to the dogs," Riddle muttered, glancing over the books on display. The attendant nearby coughed politely. "This is the Hogwarts prescribed syllabus this year, sir," he said timidly. Riddle waved a hand elegantly at him, and the anxious young man faded into the background without a word, busying himself with tidying a book display that didn't need it.  
  
"Hmm," his father mused, flicking over the books. 'You'll need this. And this." He piled the books neatly to one side; Moppy, once they had finished, would pay for the books and follow. Harry picked up one of the books interestedly. It was on transfiguration, the art of turning one thing into something else. His father took the book from him quickly, and set it down on the pile, with an almost angry look in his grey eyes.  
  
"Potions is an excellent skill," he said, handing Harry another textbook. "You would be wise to read up on the subject. The teacher at Hogwarts is terrible."  
  
Harry nodded quickly, opening the book at random. The leaves opened at a complicated list of ingredients and instructions for brewing a potion to keep off hexes from a blood enemy. He cleared his throat.  
  
'It looks interesting, Father." He looked up, trying to see the expression on his father's face. Tom reached out, and tried, half-heartedly, to ruffle Harry's hair.  
  
"Potions was my favourite subject at school," he said, almost cheerfully. "It's a subtle magic, and might not appear as showy as the flash and bang of Charms, or Tranfiguration." His voice dripped scorn. "If you're clever, boy, you'll follow more academic branches of magic." He laughed faintly, catching sight of another stack of books further off. "At least I know no son of mine would do 'muggle studies'!'  
  
As they strolled towards Knockturn Alley, so that his father could stop to do one final check on someone the Ministry was keeping an eye on, Harry felt life to be rather pleasant. The sun shone, watery but still determined on his shoulders, warming the thick cloth of his robes. His father glanced at him, and a smile flitted across his face, and his new schoolbooks were behind him, carried by Moppy. They were, his father had decided, to purchase Harry's wand further on, after he'd received his letter. It was traditional, and the small purchase would not cost Riddle too much time away from the Ministry at the important time.  
  
A huge man, broad in the shoulders and towering above the wizards flocking through the streets was walking the other way. Harry took a second look, his eyes widening. He seemed half giant, with a thick beard, and hair about his face, dressed in a large and what looked to be rather dirty overcoat. Harry wrinkled his nose in disgust at the stranger's apparel, but watched him interestedly. To his shock, the stranger looked up, and met his gaze dead on, frowning slightly, as though something about Harry puzzled him. He shook his head, and strode past them, but not before glancing at Harry once more.  
  
Harry was about to ask who the stranger had been; his father's knowledge of wizards was wide, but he noticed the weary look at the corners of his father's eyes, and the tense set of his jaw, and decided not to. It had been an exceptionally good day so far.  
  
/  
  
A/N: Next chapter, Harry receives his letter and buys his wand in his last preparations for Hogwarts. Please review! 


	3. Of Letters and Wands

A/N: Harry's letter is not a carbon copy of the books, both because it's incredibly boring to read, and he's a wizard brought up in the wizarding world. Also, his letter varies from others for a definite reason.  
  
/  
  
The room was dimly lit by a flickering candle, which cast warm gold shadows onto the walls and ceiling. The moon shone brightly tonight, a silvery shaft of light slipping through the window to lie along the floor. Harry turned over in his bed, and tried to get comfortable as he re-read one of his favourite books, 'Potions Masters, the secrets of some of the oldest and most venerated wizards of England'. He turned to the front page as he did usually when he couldn't sleep, and fingered the shabby paper.  
  
It was fingermarked, and well thumbed, but written neatly in curving script at the top of the first page was 'Tom Riddle'. It had been his father's favourite book at school.  
  
He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece over the fire. The delicate gold hands pointed to five minutes to midnight. Harry felt a chill run down his spine, and wrapped the blankets more securely around him. He would be eleven in five minutes time. He set down the book on the bed, and tossed back the blankets to walk over to the window.  
  
Their house was large; one of the oldest houses in Britain and the window that Harry leant against, looking out at the moon was large and arched. The shutters that were used throughout the mansion were always folded back in Harry's room. He liked the light shining in at him.  
  
He blinked; something had appeared out of the darkness of the night and was flying straight towards him. As it flew into the light of the moon, he recognised it as an owl, a fine tawny with a letter clasped in its talons. He glanced at the clock once more; two minutes past midnight on the thirty first of July. It was rather late for an owl, wasn't it?  
  
Before he understood what was happening, the owl perched on the windowsill, and tapped gently at the glass with its beak. Harry opened the window hurriedly, and took the letter. The owl flew off with a ruffle of feathers as Harry looked at the letter in his hands.  
  
'Mr Harry Potter, The bedroom under the eaves, Riddle House, Huntingdon, Ely'  
  
Mr Potter? Harry knew his parents, before his father adopted him, were the Potters, but he'd been Harry Potter Riddle as long as he could remember. Surely they'd made a mistake? He pulled out several sheets of parchment.  
  
'Dear Mr Potter,  
  
Your place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has arisen. Term starts on September the first. The train leaves from platform nine and three quarters at King's Cross Station in London. Discretion while among the muggles is, of course, implied. Please find enclosed a copy of the first years' book list, and equipment needed.  
  
Albus Dumbledore Headmaster, Supreme Mugwump, Order of Merlin, first class'  
  
As he turned over the other sheets, he read lists of robes they'd already bought, and books they'd already purchased. It puzzled him, increasingly worrying him. Why was the headmaster of Hogwarts calling him 'Potter'? Blowing out the candle, he climbed back into bed, and fell asleep, leaving the mystery of the letter until morning.  
  
/  
  
He was finishing the last of his cornflakes when his father swept into the dining room, his face stony, brandishing the letter. Harry felt a piece of cornflake slip sideways in his throat and stick there. He choked, coughed hard, and banged himself on the chest to dislodge it, looking fearfully at his father. Tom Riddle's face was expressionless, no glimmer in his grey eyes. He cleared his throat quietly, and when he spoke his voice was hardly audible.  
  
"Why did you not tell me you'd received your letter, Harry?" he asked mildly. "It is cause for celebration." He made no mention of the misused name, nor of Harry's apparent registration for a place at the school but Harry had the distinct impression that his father was not pleased about either.  
  
/  
  
The street was bustling with people hurrying into different shops; children were everywhere, especially Flourish and Blotts and coming out with large stacks of books. Tom gave Harry's hand an unusual squeeze, and when their eyes met, his almost sparkled with amusement.  
  
"Good idea to buy your things earlier," he commented, looking ahead towards the wand shop. Harry smiled; if his father was happy it would be a very productive shopping trip. A couple, accompanied by a girl with a lot of thick and unmanageable brown hair pushed the door of the wand shop open, and came down the steps; the girl was clutching a long box. His father's lip almost imperceptibly curled. They were all dressed in muggle clothing. Trying almost not to breathe, for fear of setting his father off, Harry led the way to the wand shop as the muggle trio moved off.  
  
When the wand he was presented with, finally, warmed to his touch and sent bright red sparks into the air, Mr Ollivander clapped and smiled warmly as his father nodded respectfully. Harry examined his first wand with a pleased smile, hearing Mr Ollivander talk.  
  
"Yes, very good for Transfiguration. Why, I remember your father's wand. He favoured a good transfigurative wand too," he chuckled. Harry looked up, smiling at his father.  
  
"Father's wand was for Transfiguration?" he asked, looking from the old wand maker to the slim figure beside him. Mr Ollivander shook his head, a gentle, sad look in his eyes.  
  
"No, Mr Potter," he said quietly. "I mean your father, James Potter." Harry felt as if he was rushing along in a very big wind, his ears roaring and his stomach dropping. His father? It was a funny feeling to think about his birth father.  
  
"Enough of that," Riddle snapped. Mr Ollivander regarded him silently.  
  
"Your mother preferred a wand for Charms," he added, almost airlily. "I remember your wand, too, Mr Riddle. Phoenix feather core, too. Why, it's odd, very odd." He looked perplexed, glancing at Harry.  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"Why, Mr Potter," Harry ignored the name, "The phoenix who gave a tail feather to your wand gave another. Just one other. It seems odd that you should be destined for this wand, when its brother belongs to Mr Riddle."  
  
Harry looked at his father, his eyes shining. "Do you hear, Father? Our wands are brothers!"  
  
"Yes, boy," Riddle said very quietly. "I heard."  
  
/  
  
A/N: Next chapter, the Hogwarts Express, and first meetings. For those of you in doubt, yes, I shall show flashbacks to Harry growing up but sparingly. For his entire life he has thought of himself as Harry Potter Riddle – and yes, I know his middle name is James – and at four he wouldn't have a 'clarifying moment TM' to tell him that his father was a sadistic bastard.  
  
Additionally, I shall probably cover how Riddle came to power in future chapters, but for those confused – Riddle looks like an ordinary man. Experiments with power were not to the extent of the book in changing his appearance. He is Minister for Magic and no-one knows for definite that he is Lord Voldemort. Since Harry was adopted, the attacks stopped, and people believed Voldemort defeated.  
  
Hopefully that answers questions. 


	4. Of Families and Trains

The flash dazzled his eyes as it went off with a loud 'pop'. Harry screwed them shut, his elbows jostled by the people hurrying through the gate. The wizened old guard sat beside it on a stool was watching him acutely. Surrounded as Harry was by both muggle parents with wizarding children and those of the wizarding world, all staring at him curiously, he felt distinctly uncomfortable. The reporter-witch's long, magenta fingernails curled around her acid-green quill, and she smiled at him widely, her lipstick matching the glossy nail polish.

"A quote, Harry?" she asked, sweetly, "For our readers, you know. Going to Hogwarts for the first time, being the Minister for Magic's son, and unaccompanied.." she trailed off, her eyes sharp in contrast with her toothy grin. Harry shook his head, and stepped away, blinking to try and clear the spots from his vision.

The train was large, and children, dressed in muggle clothes and robes, were everywhere. Beside him, a plump girl embraced her mother and father, both smiling tearfully. "I'll see you at Christmas," she promised; her long plait swung as she boarded the train. Harry stepped to one side, feeling awkward, and out of place.

His school robes were neatly folded in his trunk, being dragged by Moppy a couple of feet behind him, along with his school books. His wand, however, was tucked inside the pocket of his heavy silk robes, the same steely grey that his father had worn this morning. He'd hoped, with a little piece of his heart that his father would relent, and come to the station to see him off, but the plans hadn't changed. Just as the sun rose, Tom had been up, and dressed, and left, on Ministry business. Harry had seen him go, heard his father wish him good luck, and smiled and waved. Still, as much as he knew that his father was unlike other fathers, taking care of the country, he still wished he could be standing beside him today.

He blinked rapidly; as he looked about himself again, there were more people crowded onto the platform, doors slamming on carriages. A family only a few steps away from him were exchanging last words. He could catch them if he listened hard enough over the clamour of the station.

"Ron, there's a smut on your nose," the short, bossy but motherly-looking woman informed one of the boys lovingly. Tall and gangly, red-haired, and covered in freckles, there was a veritable crowd of their own on the bit of platform. The youngest by the looks of things moaned, and ducked away from her.

"Leave off, Mum," he complained. "I can do it." An identical pair nudged one another, by the looks of it they were a couple of years older.

"Aww. Ickle Ronnikins has a dirty nose," one cooed, in an approximation of the woman's voice. They broke into laughter. The woman rounded on them.

"George, Fred, if I hear one word from school that you've done something this time," she snapped, sounding very sharp now, "If I have to come up to school having heard that you've.... Blown something up, or turned the ghosts pink or something-"

"We've never done that!" the boy on the left protested indignantly. He exchanged a grin with his twin, and a sly nod, "S'good idea, though."

"Fred and George Weasley, you will behave yourselves!" the woman shouted. Harry shook his head, grinning at the little interplay of family and climbed into the train.

He wove his way through the carriages, passing groups of boys and girls already settling down with games of Exploding Snap and Gobstones, all who looked up interestedly as he passed. He looked down hurriedly, staring at the red carpet, and moved on, looking for somewhere empty.

The train moved off from the station, pulling smoothly away from the platform. There was an immediate scramble for the windows, as people piled up to wave goodbye. Harry carried on looking for an empty compartment.

As he crossed through the fifth carriage, he found one that was empty except for one other. It was the red headed boy from the platform, sitting looking out the window at the countryside going past. Harry cleared his throat, nervously.

"Do you mind if I sit here?" he asked, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. The boy looked up, and his eyes widened with shock, but he nodded.

"Sure! There's plenty of room," he pushed a bag off the seat opposite him, to make room. Harry sat down gingerly, pulling his robes around him. The other boy stuck out a hand.

"Ron Weasley," he said confidently, and then blushed underneath his freckles. "It's Ronald really," he muttered, "But I'm Ron." Harry took Ron's hand, and shook it.

"Harry," he answered, sorting himself out. "I'm Harry Riddle." Ron nodded; people generally knew.

"Yeah, my dad works at the Ministry, so I knew you would be here," he told him, airily. "You're going to be a first year, right?" Harry nodded. "Me too," Ron said, grinning. "Only everyone in my family's at Hogwarts, or left. There's Bill, he's the eldest, and he's a curse-breaker for Gringotts, in Romania. Then there's Charlie, he's next, and then Percy. He's a prefect," Ron rolled his eyes expressively. "And then Fred and George. They're twins. And now me. Ginny, my little sister, she's the only girl in our family." He grinned broadly again, his freckled face open, and friendly. "She'll be coming next year."

"Want to play Snap?" Harry asked, smiling back at the other boy. Ron seemed friendly, and he was another first year. Ron pulled a pack of cards from his pocket, and dealt them.

An hour or so passed, and the compartment door slid back. The boy from the robe shop, and two others, who looked like thugs standing either side of him, were in the doorway.

"Oh, hello Riddle," Draco Malfoy drawled, lazily. "I was looking for you earlier." His cool grey eyes flicked over Ron, and the half-finished game of snap. "Do you want to come down the train and meet my friends?" He looked at Ron again, coldly. "If you're going to be in Slytherin, you'd be better off away from people like this. Red hair, freckles, you must be a Weasley," he said, disgustedly, to Ron. He glanced at Harry. "They're really not our sort, Riddle. The Weasleys might be an older family, but even that doesn't exclude the riff-raff."

Harry looked at Ron. A slow, burning red glowed in his cheeks, anger as the boy stared at Malfoy. "Shut up, Malfoy," Ron snapped furiously. "At least my father doesn't side with the Dark Lord!"

Harry frowned, looking at Malfoy. A gleam of interest had sparked in the shorter, blonde's eyes.

"Come on, Riddle," Draco said impatiently, offering his hand to Harry. Harry hesitated. Ron hadn't seemed bad, he'd been friendly, and his family were nice, whatever the blond said. But.. _Draco is a well placed friend to make_. Slowly, his eyes fixed on Draco's, he placed his own hand in the other boy's. Draco smiled with satisfaction.

"Excellent. Come along," he said imperiously, giving Harry barely enough time to gather up his things and smile apologetically at Ron, who wouldn't look at him, before they followed the length of the train to the very back.

The group sitting in the last carriage were already wearing their school robes. They looked up as he and Draco entered, followed by the two Draco had introduced as Crabbe, and Goyle.

Three girls and two boys were already there, trunks piled neatly in a corner of the carriage, a wizarding chess set in front of them. Draco paused, and cleared his throat. They swung around.

"This is Pansy," Draco pointed to a small, dark girl, with a pinched looking face that looked a bit like a pug. She had a rather unfortunate nose. "Millicent," the next girl, who looked sitting down, to be taller than Harry was, and stocky. She had a thick face, but curious, and intelligent looking eyes. "Daphne," a slim and pretty, if a bit vain, blond girl, whose hair was carefully arranged over her shoulders. She smiled at Harry, her lips curving.

"This is Theodore Nott," Draco indicated a serious looking boy, with gawky limbs and a set of expensive looking robes, "And Blaise Zabini." The other boy, who had fairish hair, and grinned at Draco slyly.

"Do sit down, Harry," Draco indicated a seat beside him. "We're the best of the wizarding world this year at Hogwarts," he said, and as he sat, he leant forward and looked across at them, his gaze intent. "We're of the best families, we have the most money, and power, and it's down to us," he said grimly, "To make sure it stays that way."

"Welcome to Hogwarts," Theodore Nott offered, in a half-mocking way.

_A/N: Hee. And it starts to heat up. Next chapter, Harry and company hang out on the train, and Hermione enters looking for Neville's toad. Also, the Sorting, and the Feast. Do tell me where you would like Harry to go, House-wise, I can't promise I'll –listen- to you, but I will be amused by the different ideas. I have my own, don't fear! _

_Those mentioned are taken from the HP Lexicon – Daphne Greengrass, Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini, Pansy Parkinson, and Millicent Bulstrode. _

_Coming up soon – Lessons, learning to fly, meetings with people, a talk to Dumbledore, and discoveries. _

Also, if you like my 'The Heir of Voldemort', try 'To Thine Own Self Be True', a study of Sirius, Regulus and Bellatrix Black, in the Marauders' Sixth Year.


	5. Of Bloodlines and Castles

_A/N: I haven't updated in a while – applications to universities have gone through, college essays to write and a nerve-racking interview at Cambridge are now out of the way. In addition, the beta-process takes, quite literally, forever._

_However, many thanks do go to my beta, Hydrangea who has laboured long over this piece of the story. She's been wonderful, even when I'm completely impossible. That said, on with the story._

The train rattled over the tracks, the early wind of a cold September whistling around the carriages. The landscape rushed past Greyish drizzle began to patter against the glass of the windows, leaving long, sluggish tracks as the moisture slid across. The carriage was warm and well lit in contrast; the thick red velvet of the seats was soft under his fingers, and the lights were bright and friendly, swinging above him from the ceiling with every shake of the train.

Harry sat back against his seat and listened to the conversation almost drowsily. Since his arrival in the carriage, the chat had faded to serious talk, of pureblood families and bloodlines. Pansy and Daphne had curled up at the other end of the compartment, speaking in low voices and were occasionally giggling as they caught snatches of the main conversation, looking contemptuous of a certain name, or bloodline. Millicent sat opposite Crabbe, playing cards absently as the talk progressed. Draco sat in the centre of the carriage, surrounded by his – as Harry perceived them now – acolytes.

The blond boy's face luminated with self-satisfied pleasure and interest in the conversation. He sat back in his seat, well aware that the focus of the other children was upon him. _Was it_, Harry wondered, _having someone always pay attention to you that left you with such confidence?_ Immediately, he felt ashamed, Father never _meant _to leave him alone. There were always the house-elves and besides, Father surpassed anything anyone else could have.At the snort of laughter from Theodore Nott, he tuned back into the conversation, tapping his fingers on the armrest of the seat.

"And of course, the Weasleys," Draco was saying, his voice amused but filled with scorn. "I had to rescue Riddle from them," He looked to Harry for emphasis. "Wise to avoid them, Riddle, didn't you know?"

"Why?" Harry asked, his eyebrows knitting together in a frown. He didn't understand. He knew that the wizarding families were far superior to those born to muggles. How else could it be, when those muggleborn didn't have a clue how to act or behave in the wizarding world? But… The Weasleys were wizards, weren't they?

Draco laughed. It wasn't a friendly laugh, cold, and abrupt. "Blood traitors, the lot of them. The father, he works in the Ministry. Some crummy little department. Doesn't earn much, a scrubby little paycheck for boring work. He's obsessed with muggles, spends his whole time trying to enchant muggle objects, when he works in a department to prevent muggle objects being enchanted!" He laughed again, and smiled at Harry. "You want to avoid them, Riddle," he said, quietly,"Your father certainly wouldn't approve of the Minister for Magic's son associating with Weasleys." There was something in the way Draco said it that jarred with the words. A sort of gloating, as if he knew something Harry didn't.

But it was true. If the Weasleys were muggle-loverswhy, they were worse than Mudbloods. He thought of Ron, and the friendly way thatRon had spoken to him. Yet…his father didn't want him to know the Weasleys. Resolutely, he dismissed the faint pang at the loss of a possible friend and nodded, looking gratefully at Draco.

"Don't you worry, Riddle," Draco told him confidently, "I can show you around. Make sure you know the right sort." Harry nodded again, and went back to gazing out of the window, watching trees swish past, a great green blur, letting the conversation dim to a soft hum in the back of his conscious.

The door rattled back, and a girl stepped into their carriage. She was dressed in her school uniform, and looked about her inquiringly. Harry glanced up, as did the others.

"Has anyone seen a toad?" she asked politely. "Neville's lost one. We thought it might have come this way."

Crabbe and Goyle nudged one another and snickered with laughter. Draco smirked, and cleared his throat.

"Does it look like we have a toad?" he drawled, taking in the girl's thick, bushy hair and rather large front teeth. He pulled out his wand idlybut there was a hint of menace in the way he held himself, the slight gleam in his eyes. Harry sat up, shifting uncomfortablyin his seat.

"Are you going to do magic?" the girl asked interestedly,"Let's see it, then." Draco smirked.

"All right. How about I hex you a new face?" he replied, his voicein a parody of moderate reasonableness, as if what he'd said was perfectly acceptable. "Mudbloods," he sighed, casting a look around the rest of the carriage. The girl looked bewildered, and a little bit angry.

"Fine," she snapped, "I was only trying to be polite. And to find Neville's toad," she added, turning around and walking out.

When the train drew up to the platform, darkness had fallen. Harry, feeling very self-conscious in his stiff and new school robes, stepped off the train along with Draco, followed closely by Crabbe, and Goyle. They followed the general sway of students, trailing out onto the paved platform, and along a short path. A huge, burly figure stood, clutching a large, swinging lantern and bellowing in a low, rumbling gruff voice, 'Firs' years! Firs' years, over 'ere." Obediently, Harry, Draco, Crabbe and Goyle followed the other scared-looking and curious first years to where the man stood.

They watched a series of carriages clatter past along the cobbled path and along a road. Harry shivered. The carriages weren't driven by anything; no horse stood between the shafts. Complacently, Draco watched them go by as a group of giggling Third Year girls clambered into the next carriage, and pulled away.

"Follow me," the man ordered, hustling the group of first years away from the gathering of the other years, and down along another long path. He held the light up high. It was enormous; three times the size of a normal lantern, casting a wide, yellowish glow across the grass and path.

"Who is he?" Harry whispered, to Draco. The blond almost stumbled over a root in the ground, and shoved Goyle, furiously. "Idiot," Draco hissed at the larger boy,"Get out of my way." He gathered himself up again, glanced at Harry, and began speaking. "That's Hagrid. I've heard he's a kind of… savage. Gets drunk, forgets he can't do magic and sets fire to his bed."

"He sounds awful." Harry stared at the bobbing lantern up ahead, aghast. What kind of a place was Hogwarts?

"He's harmless," Draco said dismissively, "Just another big oaf."

The file of First Years stopped sharply as a huge lake opened up ahead. A soft breath of appreciation rose from them all, gazing across the deep, black water that was seemingly unending.

The man cleared his throat. "Welcome to Hogwarts. I'm RubeusHagrid, Keeper of Keys 'ere at Hogwarts. 'School is across that there lake. There're boats, three to a boat each, no shoving, mind." Harry paused, almost breathless, looking out at where the gleaming black water, dark with depth met the midnight blue of the sky, hewed with purple and charcoal greys.

"Come along, Riddle,"Draco touched his arm, leading him forward. They stopped nearby the large man. Harry looked up tentatively. He was huge, a mass of longish tangled black hair and beard. His long coat of what looked like moleskin bulged mysteriously at the pockets. Hagrid bent his head. A smile cracked through the thick beard, and bright black eyes gleamed at Harry.He grinned at Harry In a friendly way and nodded.

"'arry Potter," he said warmly. "Good ter see y'ere. I remember yer father an' 'is mates as Firs' years." His voice cracked with pleasure. Harry looked at him curiously.

"I'm not Harry Potter," he said, confused."My name's Harry Riddle. Potter is my middle name."

"Come on, Riddle," Draco said impatiently, pulling him away with a look of disgust. Hagrid straightened up abruptly. "Oh," he said quietly. "Malfoy, isn't it? I remember yer dad an'all."

"Yes," Draco snapped, tugging Harry toward the boats. Harry glanced back at Hagrid. There was an almost...wistfullook on the big man's face, but before Harry could look again, Hagrid had turned and was dealing with the next lot of First Years.

The boats juddered over the waves, very small against the great expanse of unending black lake. Hagrid led the way, hunched up in a boat of his own with his lantern held high. The circle of dim light bounced off the ripples. Harry sat still watching the banks of the lake fall away. He saw only the light ahead and the faint glint from Draco's hair and face, the pale boy beside him.

As the boats crested the lake a huge castle rose into view. A gasp rippled through the children in the boats; a mass of turrets and towers, its windows glowing with warm light, it looked magnificent.

"An' that," Hagrid said from his boat up ahead, with immense satisfaction, "Is Hogwarts."

The big man grabbed the large metal knocker in the centre of the oak door and banged it smartly as the first years huddled around behind him, waiting anxiously.

_A/N: And next chapter, the Sorting, McGonagall, Snape and the first week of Hogwarts. I already know which House Harry's in, but take a wild guess._

_Review, please._


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